The rhythm at Fast Track settled into something almost predictable, and that, more than anything, tested Brinley.
Predictability left room for thought.
She moved through the morning with her clipboard tucked against her side, checking off arrivals, answering questions, rerouting a last-minute rehearsal swap without breaking stride. Wedding planning bled into everything now, song lists taped beside studio doors, timelines scribbled in the margins of daily schedules. It was busy, but it was good busy. Purposeful.
And still, she felt him.
Not watching.
Not hovering.
Just… present.
Jaxson kept to the edges of her day the way he'd learned to, never inserting himself where he didn't belong, never vanishing completely either. If she needed something lifted, a cable rerouted, a piece of equipment tracked down, he handled it without comment and handed it off like it was nothing more than a task.
Which somehow made it everything.
At one point, a venue coordinator approached Brinley with a question about sound checks for the upcoming wedding showcase. Jaxson was closest. He could've answered it himself.
He didn't.
Instead, he waited until Brinley finished her sentence before adding quietly, "She's the one coordinating that."
The coordinator nodded, redirected his attention to her, and moved on.
Brinley paused for half a heartbeat.
Jaxson didn't look at her. He just went back to work.
That was new.
Later, Nitika leaned against the doorway of Studio C, arms crossed. "He defers to you," she said.
Brinley didn't bother pretending she didn't know who she meant. "It's my role."
"Yeah," Nitika replied, watching Jaxson disappear down the hall. "But not everyone respects roles when feelings get involved."
Brinley exhaled slowly. That was the thing—he wasn't trying to prove anything. He wasn't seeking reassurance or reaction. If anything, he seemed determined to let her decide when, and if, she noticed.
That kind of patience was dangerous.
During lunch, Brandon joined her at the small table near the back office. He didn't ask how things were going. He just observed.
"He's not pushing," Brandon said finally.
"No," Brinley agreed. "He's not."
"And you?"
She looked down at her notes. "I'm not giving anything I'm not ready to."
Brandon nodded once. "Good."
The afternoon stretched on. More names. More lists. More conversations that brushed past her without snagging. Jaxson passed her twice in the hallway, once with a quiet "Excuse me," once with nothing at all. Both times, he gave her space without making it obvious.
By the time the day wound down, Brinley felt the familiar pull of exhaustion, but not the kind that came from emotional strain. This was earned. Honest.
In the parking lot, she stood by her car longer than necessary, keys cool in her palm. Jaxson was a few spaces away, loading gear into his truck. He didn't look up.
She could've said something.
Could've acknowledged the shift, the effort, the care wrapped in silence.
She didn't.
Because this, this quiet balance, was fragile. And once words were spoken, they couldn't be taken back.
She opened her door instead.
Across the lot, Jaxson closed his tailgate and paused, hand resting there a moment longer than needed. He didn't turn around.
He knew better now.
Brinley slid into her seat and sat there for a second, breathing, letting the day settle. She wasn't ready to step toward him.
But she wasn't bracing herself against him either.
That felt like progress.